A Spell of Good Things

by Ayọ̀bámi Adébáyọ̀

twenty-five was the prime marriageable age, and after that she was past her sell-by date, might end up with a widower or worse a divorcé or, nightmare of all nightmares, alone.

Unfazed by Aunty Jùmọ̀kẹ́’s speech about how she had changed the celebrant’s nappy many times, the caterer stood arms akimbo as she shouted back, Madam, the turkey is finished, and I can’t turn myself into peppered turkey.

And how would she explain herself to them? These women whose opinion of her mattered so much that imagining their disappointment drenched her in shame.